The Shadow In The House

by Maxwell March

  Richard nodded. “All right … all right. We’ll come. I promise you.”

  The door closed behind the man, and Richard turned back and threw himself on his knees beside the girl. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  “Oh Richard—” her voice was very weak—“I dreamed … I dreamed, oh, terrible things!”

  He did not speak but knelt looking at her, and there occurred one of those extraordinary understandings which do sometimes happen and are afterwards inexplicable.

  Quite suddenly and without any word the girl slipped her arm round his neck and drew his head down towards her, and he kissed her lips.

  For a long time there was silence in the little room, and at last he rose heavily to his feet.

  “We’ve got to go,” he said. “They’re waiting for us. I’ll get you out of this, my darling. God knows you’ve never done anything that anyone in the world could blame you for. I’ll get you out of this somehow.”

  Very unsteadily she climbed off the couch and came towards him.

  “I want to be with you,” she said. “I know it now. I love you. I want to be with you.”

  They were in a strange mood as they sat together in the back of the police car and were driven down to the little station in the village street. A crowd had gathered to see them, and there were whispers and some cheering as they appeared.

  The two plain-clothes men helped them out of the back of the car and took them into the square, ugly building. Mary’s mind was reeling. She was only vaguely aware of what had happened. She only knew that she had been in great danger and that Richard had saved her and that she loved him. And that now the worst had happened and he was going to be arrested, and she with him.

  In the little anteroom she saw Mr Latcher talking to a man in police-inspector’s uniform. The little solicitor glanced up as they appeared, and an odd expression came into his eyes.

  He began a conventional speech of congratulation on their safety but broke off abruptly as he saw that both young people were on the verge of collapse. He turned to the inspector.

  “I hardly know if it’s wise,” he began. “I fancy—ah—it—ah—may be a great shock.”

  “We’ll risk it,” said the inspector grimly. “Come on, you two.”

  He flung open the door of the inner room, and Mary stepped into a brightly lit apartment whose pale-green walls were bare and inhospitable. Slowly her heavy eyes travelled round the room and came to rest at last upon the three people who sat at the table under the window.

  One was a policeman, one was Peter Muir-David, and the third was the one woman in the world she had thought never to see again. Mary stood there swaying, her eyes riveted on the stranger. The world seemed to be crashing about her ears, and darkness descended over her.

  “Say, look out! The kid’s fainting. …”

  The big red-haired girl in the mink coat was on her feet and across the room to catch the other woman before she fell.

  “Poor little kid,” said Marie-Elizabeth Mason. “I may have returned from the dead, but it looks as though you’ve killed this young woman. Clumsy just isn’t the word for it!”

  Some minutes later she was still talking.

  “Now look here, my dear good people,” she said, thrusting her expensive hat a little farther on to the back of her head. “I—I don’t want to push myself forward in any way, but it seems to me that this is my show. I mean if anybody’s been aggreived it’s me, anyway from the legal point of view. That’s so, isn’t it, Judge?”

  Little Mr Latcher coughed and grew pink.

  “Not—ah—Judge, my dear young lady,” he said hastily. “But as your legal adviser I think I can safely say that the onus of prosecution lies with you.”

  “Let’s leave prosecution out of it for a bit,” said Marie-Elizabeth, drily. She was standing by the doorway of the big, cheerless room, still supporting the fainting Mary with one strong fur-clad arm. “This is a friend of mine. You’ve heard me speak of her lots of times, haven’t you, Elmer?”

  The small fat man with the bald head and the outrageously luxurious motoring coat who had wandered in from the outer office said, “Sure!” without batting an eyelid, and Marie-Elizabeth beamed on him.

  “There you are,” she said. “The mighty word spoken by the little millionaire himself. I’d like you all to know that Elmer Tench backs his wife up in every particular. What I say goes, doesn’t it, Elmer?”

  “Sure,” nodded the plump man again, and his small black eyes danced at her appreciatively.

  Marie-Elizabeth turned to the inspector.

  “Well, that being so, I’d like to have a few words with my friend in private, Captain. We’ve been out of touch with each other for a week or two while I’ve been honeymooning, and things sort of seem to have got out of hand.”

  The inspector hesitated, and the Australian girl waved her hand towards Richard.

  “You can have the boy friend,” she said, “and if you’re not busy with him he could do with a bath and some breakfast, couldn’t you, buddy?”

  Richard did not speak, but a faint smile appeared upon his tired face.

  Mr Latcher and the inspector had a hasty conference. The effect of Marie-Elizabeth’s sensational personality was considerable. The inspector was definitely flustered by her. The only person who did not seem to realize what was happening in the room was Peter. He sat at the table, his head in his hands, and stared at the rough deal boards, his eyes heavy and his thoughts far away.

  In the end Marie-Elizabeth got her own way, as she was destined to do from the first moment she opened her mouth, and she and Mary found themselves in a little warm cubbyhole called “the matron’s room.” A police constable sat in the passage outside, but he was out of earshot, and the two girls were alone.

  Mr Latcher had strongly opposed the interview and had taken it upon himself to warn his client that Mary was a dangerous criminal and that any conversation would be best conducted in front of him. But Marie-Elizabeth had merely replied, “You’re telling me, Judge!” and had gone her own way.

  As soon as the two girls were alone, Marie-Elizabeth set her companion down in the one comfortable chair the room contained and made up the fire with a fine disregard for government coal.

  “Well now,” she said at last, wiping her hands on a big chiffon handkerchief, “you’ve been having quite a time gadding around as me, haven’t you?”

  Mary caught her breath. “I can’t believe it is you,” she said. “They told me you were dead. I—I saw you buried. …”

  “I know.” The big redheaded girl looked momentarily serious. “That was just terrible. My old auntie seems to have been quite energetic in her own quiet way. I tell you, kid, I had no idea what I was letting you in for. Auntie appears to have been several varieties of crook. I’d like to meet her.”

  “But the funeral …” Mary persisted. “I saw you buried.”

  “No, kid. Not guilty. It wasn’t me. That was a girl called Ruby.” Marie-Elizabeth made the astonishing statement without turning a hair. “I guess I’d better explain. When I left Granny’s little dugout in Merton House I went to the Imperial Palace and booked myself a suite for a fortnight. I was going to do the thing well, you see. I took all your things there, as we arranged, and I booked the room in your name. And then I walked out, and I met Elmer.”

  “Elmer?”

  “Yes. You were fainting, or you’d have seen him. He’s among all the cops in the waiting room. Mary, he’s not much to look at—” Marie-Elizabeth’s voice had become very earnest and her big grey eyes were steady—“but he’s got a heart of gold and he’s a millionaire—a multimillionaire. It’s not only his money,” she continued. “I thought it was at first, but it’s not. I’d have married Elmer if he was broke.”

  She paused and glanced at Mary reflectively.

  “You may think it was a bit sudden,” she said, “but I’m like that, and it was all fixed up within forty-eight hours. He said, ‘Come on, let’s get married and nip of
f for a cruise,’ and I said, ‘Right.’ And that was all, or it might have been all if I hadn’t met Ruby and she hadn’t been down on her luck. She was a little actress, a red-haired kid who was a bit wild. I met her at one of the agents’ who I’d been to see before I realized that Elmer was on the level. She had no money and no place to go, and I said, ‘Well, come round and have some grub with me one night.’ She turned up immediately, and I was going off with Elmer by that time, so I said, ‘You can caretake my room for me at the hotel.’ And she did. I told the management that I’d taken the place for her and that she was the real Mary Coleridge—that was just in case they got mean and wouldn’t stand for a transfer—and that’s how the trouble started. She went joy riding, got herself killed, and I guess you can understand the rest of the story.”

  She paused and stood looking at Mary, a contrite expression on her fine, clear-cut face.

  Mary passed her hand over her eyes. “It seems incredible,” she said. “I suppose it’s no good me telling you that I didn’t intentionally assist Mrs de Liane in her attempt to get hold of your fortune?”

  “Oh, that. …” Marie-Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. “My dear child, you don’t have to tell me you’re honest. That’s the first thing I told the solicitor’s clerk when he found me and what I’ve been telling that little dried-up hen, Latcher, ever since I met him. I know you’re honest, Mary. I’m not crazy, and I’m not blind, dumb or half-witted. Some people are so honest it’s embarrassing. You’re one of those. Auntie seems to have been a different proposition altogether.”

  She laid her hand upon the other girl’s shoulder as she spoke, and Mary found the grip of those steady fingers very comforting in a world of chaos.

  “But the money,” she said at last. “I don’t know what’s happened to it. I don’t know how much she’s had. I couldn’t do anything to stop her … I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Marie-Elizabeth spoke magnificently. “Latcher says she may have gone through ten thousand at the most since she pulled the swindle, although she’s had the interest on the three hundred thousand for years, the old haybag. And anyway, what’s ten thousand? Elmer’s got three million. It’s extraordinary, you know, because he’s just like a kid. He and I understand each other, and we get along fine.

  “However, I don’t want to bore you with rhapsodies about my husband. I want to know about your position.”

  Mary shuddered. She felt dizzy and frightened. The amazing truth was only forcing itself upon her very slowly.

  “I don’t understand,” she said at last. “D’you mean that you’re not going to prosecute me? D’you mean they’re not going to arrest me? D’you mean that you really believe that I’m not a crook?”

  “Bless the girl!” said Marie-Elizabeth hastily. “You’re off your nut, my pretty. What d’you think I’ve been telling you all this time?—how to make flapjacks? I’m very sorry I let you in for all this. I blame myself. If I’d gone down to Auntie I’d have handled the situation in my own way, and, although we might have killed each other, she’d have had her work cut out to manage me. But instead of that, I sent you, an innocent little schoolkid, and played right into her hands. I’m so glad you haven’t died. I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m going to make it up to you somehow—don’t you worry about that.”

  Mary looked at her wonderingly. She looked so strong, so amazingly smart in her long mink coat and elegantly cut tweeds. All the same she wondered. If Eva de Liane had met the real Marie-Elizabeth on that night at Baron’s Tye, would she have found her match? Mary was inclined to doubt it.

  Marie-Elizabeth had perched herself on the edge of the table.

  “There’s one little thing we’ve got to settle right away,” she said. “It’s a delicate matter, and I hardly know how to approach it. When I heard from Latcher and that fellow Sir Peter whatever-his-name-is that you’d actually married Auntie’s son, well, then I did wonder whether you’d gone out of your mind. A girl can do a lot for pity, but marriage—well, I ask you! However, now I’ve seen the boy friend I’m beginning to get a hold of the situation. I don’t blame you, kid. I don’t blame you at all.”

  Mary grew crimson. “Oh, but you don’t understand,” she said. “I wasn’t in love with Richard. I’d never seen him before. I thought he was going to die. I wasn’t in love with him—not then.”

  Marie-Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Not then?” she said. “That’s what I wanted to know. All the same, don’t you run away with any illusions, young woman. If Auntie had taken you upstairs and shown you a little measly cross-eyed under-sized sniveller and said, ‘Look, it’s going to die. Marry it,’ you’d have been awfully sorry for her but you wouldn’t have married. No, my pet, it’s the man himself who got you into that little scrape.

  “Now look here, do you want the marriage annulled and the lad stuffed in jail with the rest of the gang? Or d’you want me and Elmer to exert our influence? Just say the word.”

  Mary rose to her feet. “I love him,” she said quietly. “I want to be with him always.”

  “Atta girl!” said Marie-Elizabeth Mason with approval. “Well, hold your hat on, sweetie, and leave it all to me. Let’s go and talk to Elmer.”

  Mary held out her hands. “I never met anyone like you in all my life,” she said unsteadily. “You’re wonderful.”

  “Don’t you believe it,” said Marie-Elizabeth Mason. “I’m not a darned fool, that’s all. When something sticks out under my nose I see it. Don’t cry, kid. The fun’s just beginning.”

  Blindly Mary followed her.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  The Showdown

  “MOTHER, are you afraid?”

  Edmund Beron put the question as they pulled up in the dawn in a deserted lane some little distance from the cottage which Louise had visited earlier in the night. He caught a glimpse of Eva de Liane’s reflection in the windscreen, and something new in her face had made him turn to her.

  She did not reply immediately, and it was Ted’s blustering voice from the back of the car which answered him.

  “Afraid? No, she’s not afraid. Why should she be?”

  There was a forced heartiness in his tone, and in spite of himself the last words were a question. Eva de Liane drew her shawls a little more closely about her. Although she was fully dressed, she shivered as though with cold, and there was an expression in her dancing blue eyes which Beron had never seen there before. It was a weariness. She looked strained, exhausted.

  However, her voice had its old indomitable quality as she spoke.

  “Oh no,” she said. “These people must be taught to be reasonable, that’s all. Louise may be a little difficult, dear girl, but I think the Whybrows are far too sensible to listen to her. What are you waiting for, Edmund? There’s no time to lose. Hurry.”

  Beron started the car again unwillingly. “I was thinking,” he said slowly, “that if we drove straight on to the coast it might be the safest thing to do. I’ve got a little money. I’ve been carrying it about with me for some time lately, and if I know you you’ve done the same thing, and so has Ted.”

  “Yes, I’ve got a little money. Not much, but enough to keep me going for a week or two.”

  There was a shamefaced quality in Ted de Liane’s mumble from behind them. Mrs de Liane laughed.

  “I have nothing,” she said. “Nothing here or anywhere. I converted everything I had and everything I could get out of Latcher in my attempt to smash Cosmos.”

  Beron let the car swerve, and he righted it again before he spoke.

  “Were you mad?”

  The words broke from him. Again the old woman laughed a little.

  “No,” she said. “It was a gamble, and it was worth it. Everything depends upon these people here. The girl is safely dead. With her out of the way we can meet any charges that are brought against us. There is no proof. No one has any proof——”

  “Except Louise,” said Beron.

  Eva de Liane caught her breath. “E
xcept Louise. And if you think a woman like that is going to confound me you’re wrong.”

  Beron said nothing. They had turned into the lane now, and the black Daimler was still standing in the road. Beron pulled up behind it.

  “They’re still here, then,” he said, his face pale and his lips working. “We’re wasting time, I tell you. There’s only one thing for us to do, and we’d better do it quickly. Let’s get away. After all, we don’t know what’s happened back at Heronhoe. Even now the police may be on our track. Even now they may be warning the ports. Let’s make a dash for it.”

  “No.” The voice of authority was still there, and as the old woman climbed out of the car and stood in the dawn she was the commanding figure she had always been. “We won’t lose our heads. Edmund, you stay here. Ted, come with me.”

  The older man obeyed her grudgingly, and Beron remained crouching over the wheel.

  “Be as quick as you can,” he said. “I’m not happy about this delay.”

  Mrs de Liane’s laugh drowned the rest of his sentence.

  “You were always nervous, Edmund,” she said, “even as a little boy. There was a time when I had great hopes of you, but now I’m not so sure. Wait here until we come back.”

  Edmund Beron did not answer. He remained bent over the wheel of the car, his eyes fixed gloomily on the back of the Daimler in front.

  Together Mr and Mrs de Liane toiled up the narrow, overgrown path through the straggling little garden of the Whybrows’ cottage. It was a desolate scene. White frost lay on the brown earth and yellow grasses, and the cottage itself looked lonely and deserted.

  It was typical of Eva de Liane that she did not hesitate, did not reconnoitre, but walked straight up to the low doorway and, pressing down the iron latch, stepped swiftly into the stuffy room within.

  Ted de Liane hung back, but when she turned and glanced at him he shambled after her, and together they burst upon the scene within.

  The oil lamp was still burning, although daylight was creeping in through the windows. The place was in the same disorder, but instead of the weary Mrs Whybrow it was Louise, her dark eyes alight with eagerness, who bent over the sleeping child. Walker sat in a corner of the room, dozing in a chair.